Way of Danae
by Millennialice
Summary: Five times her life with him made her want to cry. Once she did.
1. The First

AN: Hello! This story had been floating around for awhile, and a scene in the movie gave me an idea that sort of brought the whole thing together. That piece will be posted in a later chapter, see if you can spot it. (It won't be hard) This was originally intended as a one-shot, but all together it's a bit long, so I am breaking it into 5 chapters instead. Thanks for reading!

Oh and before I forget: I don't own Percy Jackson, etc...

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She was walking home from work, looking forward to the chance to rest. Her day at work had been particularly long, and she was exhausted. The boy sleeping in her arms was old enough to have made the walk on his own, but he could hardly keep his eyes open when she had picked him up, so she had scooped him up a couple of blocks into their trip. He had mentioned a man on the street. She wondered how much more time they would have before it was necessary to change daycares, yet again. It was happening more frequently, now that he was getting older.

She rounded the corner of their block, passed two older men on a bench that looked at her a little too long, and counted the number of footsteps until she could sit down. One building away, she pulled up short. Dodging cars, she quickly crossed the street, her shoe catching on the curb. There was an angry honk, and she waved an apology while checking the dark head resting on her shoulder.

She gave a small smile of disbelief. He hadn't woken up. She wiped some drool off his chin with her thumb before it could reach her uniform, and turned back to her building across the street. She waited. People passed by the doorway with its peeling paint. She shifted the boy's weight and paced a few steps, peering into the dark room beyond it. Her feet really hurt now and her back was starting to throb. She took a few steps closer to the busy street.

There. Something moved in the darkness, up around the top of the doorway. She squinted but couldn't make out what it was. The shadow blurred and grew fuzzy as she stared at it, but it still definitely there. She let out a huff and resumed her pacing. Why, why, _why, _when she needed it now more than ever in her life, did her sight always seem to be failing her?

The boy moved and wrapped an arm around her neck, still not waking. She raised a hand to his back, and then convulsively tightened her hold on him as she watched a green tail unfold and hang down the side of the building's entry, inches from the arm of a teenager leaning against the wall. The teenager didn't notice, but kept talking to the blonde girl on his left. His girlfriend scanned the traffic on the street as if bored. Their eyes met and the blonde smiled banally at her. She averted her gaze and gave a shiver. The girl had pointed teeth and her lips were stained a red that no lipstick could create.

Maybe it was because of the sun, maybe it was because of the fatigue, or maybe it was because of the task she was demanding of her sight, but her eyes began to sting. She couldn't go home now. They probably wouldn't be going back home _ever_. They had moved before, and it was horrible, but a small price to pay. The sun was sinking behind the tall buildings and the shadows were getting longer. She found a space on the wall of the building behind her, and slumped against it. There was nowhere else for her to go. Nowhere else.

She stroked the boy's back, hating how goosebumps had appeared on his arms with the decreasing temperature. He should have had more than a thin shirt when they had left this morning. Now his jacket, and hers, were both in the apartment they couldn't get to because of the blood-stained blonde across the street and the green tail in the doorway.

"We'll be okay," she told the sleeping child. "It'll be fine. This isn't bad at all." They must not have picked up on him yet. The blonde hadn't shown any sign of recognition, and neither had moved from their positions. Or they were waiting for her to draw nearer, luring her into their trap with feelings of security.

She shook her head. "If this was really bad," she continued to the boy, "I would have you as far away from here as possible. But we're still here, so this isn't so bad." She stood up and searched the area around her. There wasn't much the police could do for her, but maybe something, _someone_, would work to their advantage.

"You see," she remarked as she began to walk down the street, "_you_ are asleep. And _I _am your mother, and I say that you need your sleep." She returned the curious gaze of a lady walking up stairs with her groceries, and then crossed back to the other side of the street.

"So you must sleep." She fixed her gaze on the entry to her building. "And they must sleep, and anything else that wants to bother us, well they're going to have to sleep as well, because you're tired, and I'm tired." She passed the bench and paused again, not wanting to bring the boy too close. "And if anything can help us out here, now would be a good time."

Something slammed into her shoulder from behind, nearly toppling her and almost causing her to lose her grip on the sleeping boy. One of the older men from the bench brushed by her with a grunt and continued on, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, and then noticed she wasn't the only one affected.

The blonde had her nose wrinkled too. And her forehead. And her chin, cheeks, and mouth. As she watched the blonde's entire face seemed to ripple, as if trying to drive away a foul odor. The boy beside the not-a-girl paused in his story to ask, "You okay?" before continuing as she turned her face into the brick wall beside her.

This was it, now or never. Hoping enough of whatever offended the blonde still clung to them from the collision, she marched them forward, following the man from the bench. She shifted the boy to her other side, closer to the street and tried to shield him from the creature by the wall.

She passed the blonde and kept going. She walked faster, gaining on the man, relieved beyond belief when he turned to go though their doorway. She passed through the entry on his heels, giving the green tail a wide berth, and followed him though the dingy lobby and into the elevator.

No inhuman shrieks were sounded behind her. She didn't feel scales sliding on her skin. No talons dug into her shoulder, no claws tried to rip the child from her arms. When the elevator grates had slammed closed she let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding.

She planted a kiss on the top of the boy's head. He still slept, he hadn't woken once. The man beside her gave a snort and a cough before pressing the button for his floor. The chains creaked and rattled before giving a jolt and they began their shaky ascension. She waited patiently to reach their floor, and her eyes began to water. Here in this small space with this man, she began to understand what had kept them from discovery.

She gave another glance to the man next to her. He smelt of a myriad of ripe odors, none of them pleasant. His sleeveless shirt may have once been white, but was now a blend of yellow and gray and spotted with a collection of stains she didn't care to identify. The shirt stretched over his large gut and hung untucked over brown pants that were not zipped. His bald head glistened with drops of sweat and he breathed loudly through his mouth. He caught her perusal and his mouth twisted into a leer as he raked his eyes over her form before raising his eyebrows in suggestion.

She turned away and felt her skin crawl. She could understand their repellence. So this is what it took to keep even blood-stained blondes and things with green tails away. She shifted her weight from one aching foot to the other and looked down at the boy in her arms. This would only keep happening more and more often. She couldn't count on herself to see every one of them. The next time she managed to see something, it might already be too late. She ruffled his dark hair. He needed something more. He deserved something better.

Fixing a smile, she turned back to the man as the car came to a jarring stop. He looked a bit surprised as he took in her change in demeanor, but his expression quickly decayed and became smug. She stepped out with him on his floor, determined to make it though a conversation with him. Maybe this time, they wouldn't have to move, after all.

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Sooo...let me know what you thought!


	2. The Second

AN: I may be playing a bit with the timeline of events here, but nothing I read in The Lightning Thief could prove me wrong. Please let me know if I missed something.

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A year later, she stood in front of the mirror and brushed her hair. She spent a minute trying to weave the long brown strands, but quickly gave up and fashioned it into a ponytail. There was no use pretending this was something it wasn't. She paused for a minute, taking in her appearance and smoothing the front of her work uniform, before she glanced at her watch and wished it could cover the bruises there. They would be late if she didn't hurry.

Fixing a smile on her face, she stepped out of her bedroom, and found her son eating his breakfast on the kitchen counter. She ruffled his hair, kissed his cheek, and told him he had a milk mustache. She rolled her eyes while he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt.

"You look pretty," he said as his eyes drifted back to the cartoons he had playing on the small television by the other wall.

Just like that, he had made this a good day. "Thank you," she replied, and bit into an apple. Whenever she began to forget why everything in her life was important, she only had to look across the table to remember. She swallowed. "I want you to think of something special you want for dinner tonight, after all, today's a big day."

"What's today?" he questioned absently, briefly turning away from the television. She frowned. They had talked about this, didn't he remember? He had always had a short attention span.

"Hey," she said, and walked over to turn off his distraction, "you know what today is. Today, I'm getting married."

"Married?" he looked at her with bewilderment. She had his full attention now. "To who?"

She sighed. At that moment there was a pounding on their front door, and she moved to let her soon to be husband in. He strode in, and she hid a groan. With his state of undress, she was going to be late to work for sure. "If you want me to wear this," he said as he threw balled up material at her, she recognized as the shirt she had ironed for him last night, "you had better make sure all the buttons are on it."

She snapped her eyes shut. She had known there was something else she had to do before she could fall asleep, but couldn't remember what is was. "I'll have it fixed," she replied brightly, smile firmly in place.

Her son was watching them with growing horror. "No way," he said, shaking his head "Uh-uh. No."

Her fiancé shot him a look. "You got something to say?"

She quickly intervened, "Why don't you go get your book bag and head down to the bus?" Experience had taught her that this was a conversation best ended now. Her son's resentment of his new stepfather's treatment was only exceeded by the man's intolerance of any inconvenience the boy may cause him. She stilled as she felt his arm snake around her waist.

"It'd be nice to be alone, now wouldn't it?" her boyfriend breathed in her ear.

She maneuvered out of his grip, kept her mouth frozen into a smile, and retreated to her own room. She shut the door and leaned against it. The doorknob rattled in her white knuckled grip.

She couldn't go through with this. It was too much. Her name, now containing his, flashed through her mind, and she swallowed hard. There had to be another way. Something else, _anything _else.

There wasn't. The best thing for her son now was to have the man's permanent presence as near as possible. Her breathing was shaky. For her, that meant marriage. To him. The thought of him so close, for so long, both relieved and horrified her.

_Please, _she thought, _don't let this happen, if not for me, than for him. _Her son was the reason for the marriage. He was also the best reason against it. That man would be his example, the only father he would ever know, which was a cruel irony considering his father was –

She looked at her reflection, aghast. Was that what this was about? Did she think _he_ would somehow intervene if _he_ knew such a vile substitute had been chosen? That she could force _his _hand, and have _him_ make things alright?

_No_, the mirror told her. The tears in her eyes receded. Her reasoning was correct. Every one of her actions would serve to help her son, in the long run. His best interests had been her only motivation. But still…

Her willingness to go along with this plan. Her denial of the awfulness this sham of a marriage would bring to her life. They were fueled by a belief, somewhere so deep within she was only finding it now, that it wouldn't be necessary. She had been holding a staring contest with _him_, wanting _him _to blink, only to find out that _he _wasn't watching. It was a game she couldn't win.

She couldn't lose either. Her son's life depended on it. She had known getting into this that she would be on her own. He was hers completely, and she alone could make sure he was safe. She would make sure he was safe.

She retrieved the missing button and finished sewing it onto the shirt. She was finished and back in the living room by the time the boy reemerged from his room, his solemn face reflecting his focus on surviving another day at school. She handed the shirt off to its owner and met him at the front door.

"Remember," she told him as she knelt and gave him a hug, "whatever you want for dinner tonight. We're celebrating." Her son looked at her with worried green eyes and twitched his mouth into a brave smile. She knew that, tough kid that he was, he would go along with this for her sake.

"Something…blue," he decided.

From across the room they heard a snort. The man gave her a look. "Real winner you have there," he finished buttoning his shirt and mopped his sweaty head with a sleeve, "There's no such thing as blue food, kid."

Disbelief flashed across the boy's eyes, and he opened up his mouth, but she placed a finger across his lips. She stood and turned to face the man she was binding her life to.

"Yes there is," she said in a steely tone, "We have tons of blue candy at work."

He snorted again, dismissively, "Candydoesn't count."

She managed to keep her sneer somewhat like a smile. "_Blue_berries then. And blue raspberries."

Her son picked up the thread. "There's blue Jello! And blue Kool-Aid! And blue ice cream," he said emphasizing each object with a jump.

She continued, "Blueberry syrup, blueberry jam, blueberry muffins," she was starting to run out.

"Blue ice-pops! Blue cake! Blue frosting! And…" he built up to his last one, "Blue Coke!" By now her smile was genuine.

The man surveyed the two of them standing together. "Whatever," he replied, and turned to open the fridge.

She turned back to her son. "Tell you what," she said untwisting one of the straps on his backpack. "We'll have a huge dinner when we all get home tonight, and everything," she raised her voice so the whole room was sure to hear, "will be blue." There was no response from the fridge.

The boy darted a glance at the man and back to her, and gave a grin. "Alright," he agreed before kissing her on the cheek and dashing down the stairs with a quick "Bye!" She shut the door behind him.

"While you're thinking of dinner, what about my breakfast," came the voice from behind her in the kitchen. She glanced at the clock and scowled.

"I think it would be a good idea if you got breakfast at a restaurant when I go to work," she replied. They needed to leave now. "Here," she fished her few remaining bills out of her purse, "it'll be my treat."

"Yeah," he counted the money and thought it over, "Yeah, I suppose that will be alright," he conceded as she herded him out the door. Her breakfast lay forgotten on the counter. "I'll tell you one thing," he gave a nasty laugh, "_I'm_ sure as hell not eating anything blue, you can bet on that."

She nodded as she started down the stairs. She could bet on a couple other things too. One, that there was no way on, above, or below Earth that she was changing her last name. And two, that she didn't care what his bad mood would cost her later, dinner that night was going to be fun.

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AN: Let me know what you thought!


	3. The Third

AN: Hi! Remember in the AN in Chapter 1, I talked about the scene from the movie that helped bring this story together? It's used in this chapter. It also took me longer than I thought to find the time and write this part, thanks for waiting.

I also wanted to thank those who reviewed, told me what they thought, and reassured me that I hadn't destroyed the canon timeline: Kanae Valentine, apiratesmile, andy, and Helen Racine. Thank you guys, your reviews mean a lot to me, I'm sorry if I didn't reply to them, but please realize that I cherish your each and every word. (If you were offended, let me know and I will be sure to reply.)

Also, a gold star goes to Kanae Valentine, for knowing who and what the story's title referenced. Thanks Kanae!

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When she had been young, she had liked school. Her grades had been good, and she liked to be taught. She liked to learn. She liked the sound of shoes squeaking in the gym. She liked the smell of books in the library.

However, she hated teacher conferences.

It didn't matter that it was a different school this year, or that it would be a different school the next. It was always the same, either with teachers who were frustrated with her son and ready to write him off, or teachers who were a little too interested in him for everyone's own good. And it never failed that eventually some parent would find out she was _that boy's _mother, and she would spend the rest of the night receiving curious, condemning looks from everyone around her.

It wasn't her fault her son had a hard time at school. It wasn't his either. And to be fair, it really wasn't the teachers' fault, for the most part. It was what it was, and everyone just had to make the best of it. There was a reason for it, she knew. It couldn't stay this way forever.

She was leaving the building, reaching for the door, when she heard her name called in an unfamiliar voice. She turned and saw a short woman hurrying toward her in a pencil skirt. Her thin, brown hair was drawn up tightly at the back of her head, and she was clutching a large stack of papers and tri-folded pamphlets. A few fluttered away from her as she moved down the hall.

She moved away from the door, subtly checking to make sure the sleeve of her shirt hid the large bruise on her upper arm. The lady gave a harried smile as she came closer. "Hello," she said, freeing an arm and extending her hand, "We haven't met, but I'm the guidance counselor here."

She shook the hand, trying to step back unnoticeably. Her experience with counselors was worse than teachers. Some genuinely wanted to help you with your life. Others - a lot of others –wanted your liver on a dinner plate with a side of chips. She returned the maybe-lady's smile, and murmured a greeting. She found the door handle with her free hand, in case she needed to get away.

"Your son seems to have a lot of needs in the classroom," the counselor had continued.

"He's a smart boy," she defended him, "he doesn't have a problem with the material, it's the classroom." She ran through the mental checklist she had used all night. Square teeth, round pupils, two eyes, two arms, two legs, no tail…everything about and around this woman was crystal clear. This one may be all right.

"Of course," the counselor nodded. She may have actually meant it. "But we can't deny that all his problems are purely academic. He had a long behavior record before he came to us, and then there was the incident in the cafeteria…"

"He told me he had nothing to do with that, and I believe him." Her son did not lie, not to her, not about important things.

The counselor nodded again. "Of course. I was there and I don't fully understand it, myself."

"The principal certainly believes he does." Her son had barely been back two weeks since his suspension.

"There was just so _much _pudding."

"So I heard." It wasn't even the oddest story in her son's academic history.

"And it was absolutely everywhere. The janitor tells me he still has to scrub one corner of the floor twice a day. It wells up from _under _the tile…"

"I'm sorry," she said, and really meant it. "But, it wasn't his fault."

The lady looked at her for a moment. She readied herself for what would happen next: the blow of rejection, the sting of the rescinded invitation, the condemnation that her son was no longer welcome in their school.

"So am I," the counselor said finally, she shifted her large stack of paper. "The principal has made it clear; he wanted me to talk to you about … other options for you. We don't want to have to make a large production, but he will if it comes to that."

She had heard this all before. "All right," she agreed, and looked the counselor in the eye; this had quit affecting her long ago. "How long do we have?" It was a big city, with lots of schools they had not been banned from, yet.

"He can finish the semester, barring any more incidents." She couldn't promise that. "After that…" she drew out a glossy pamphlet from her large stack. "If I could make a suggestion."

She took the pamphlet, glanced at its cover, and shook her head. "My son is nota troubled child."

The counselor was already moving backward down the hall. "I have another meeting, I'm sorry. Please, give it some thought. I think it might help." Then she turned around and was quickly around a corner.

She looked back down at the pamphlet, and knew she would never send her son there. Not only would it give him another label he didn't really deserve, there was one other basic problem. It was a boarding school.

Boarding schools had been offered before, and were completely out of the question. Her son needed her. She protected him, not always perfectly, but the best she could. It was more than anyone else was trying to do.

She pushed the door open, ignoring the pain it caused in her shoulder. She would be happy when this bruise healed. Besides turning a nasty shade of green, it made nearly every use of her arm painful.

So much of what she had done with her life centered on assuring his well being. If he was not there with her, there was no point to them. He needed to be close to her, to her husband, if he was to stay safe. She was not about to let him go without it one second before it was completely necessary. They would have to find another local school.

The walk home was long, but cab fare was out of the question. The wind blew the cold night air, she could feel it through her coat, and in the growing hole she had worn in the toe of her shoe. She hurried under the streetlamps, not even pausing to toss the pamphlet in the trash. It was later than she had planned, and she had to get home.

She ducked through the doorway, hurried through the lobby, and climbed the stairs, they would be faster. At her floor, she found her keys and unlocked the door. The remote shattered on the wall next to her head as she walked in. Startled, she let a noise as the door slammed behind her.

"You jerk!" she heard as her son entered the kitchen. "Mom, are you okay?"

She slipped the pamphlet in her pocket, smiled at him and said, "I'm fine, but the remote's not." She began to pick up the pieces.

He turned and yelled into the apartment. "You almost hit my mom!" They heard the sound of a recliner moving upright, and soon her husband had entered the kitchen.

"She's here?" He shuffled in and she took him resignedly. Apparently the mostly empty beer bottle in his hand was not his first. The man walked up too close to her. "Where were you? Where's my dinner?" She could smell how he had spent his night in the alcohol on his breath.

Her son took the remote pieces for her. "I was at a meeting at school," she told him. She could see her son lean against the counter, with his arms crossed. He knew she wouldn't have good news.

"School?" her husband laughed, "you mean they still let him go to school?" he laughed again.

"They still let you out in public, don't they?" her son muttered behind him. "That is, if you ever left the apartment."

"I told you about it this morning," she said soothingly, before the man could work out what her son has said, "and I left you enchiladas for dinner." She opened the refrigerator to prove her point.

Her husband looked blearily from the dish, then back to her. "And am I suppose to eat them cold?"

"What's the matter?" her son spoke before she could, "Afraid to get near the stove because it would ignite the fumes around you and we'd lose the whole building?"

The man turned around. "That's it." He started unsteadily toward the counter. Her son straightened his small frame, no taller than the man's shoulder, his hands in fists at his side. She took a step towards them.

The sports theme blared from the television in the living room, and they all paused. "This is your lucky night, kid," the man said, and then he turned and headed back to his seat in the other room. "If you know what's good for you, you won't be here next commercial break."

She pulled the covered dish out of the refrigerator, placed it in the oven, and set the timer. The tension that had entered her body in the last few minutes would not go away.

"I told him that was in there," her son said behind her. "He wouldn't listen." She was willing to bet that was how the whole night had been with her gone.

He headed out of the room. "You shouldn't have to do that. Let him make his own stupid dinner for once." He took a deep breath. "HEY - " she caught up and shushed him. She brought him back into the kitchen and opened her purse. She pulled out the money in it. There was an arcade a block away. He could stay there the couple of hours it would take for her husband to fall asleep. Her shoes would have to last until next month.

"What?" he asked when she told him her plan and gave him the money. He refused. "You're making _me_ leave?"

"Just for a little bit," she answered. "You know how…the game…can make him."

Her son looked at her, angry, hurt and confused. "Mom, _why_ do you stay with him?" his hushed voice was barely under a shout as he pled. "_Why?_"

She didn't have an answer for him. She would not lie, and the truth would just make things worse. "I'll see you in a few hours," she finally managed, not looking him in the eye.

"Okay,"he said, but his tone said it wasn't. With a terse, "Bye," he left. She winced as the door slammed behind him. There wasn't any sound from the living room besides the sports channel.

The timer on the oven dinged. She brought a plate into the living room and set it on the side table next to the recliner. Her husband gave a grunt in response.

She quietly went to her bedroom and shut the door. Her breathing was irregular. She sat on the bed, grabbed a pillow, and buried her face into it.

The tension had worked into her eyes, the tears came, and she let them fall. She had long ago accepted that she would have to lose things if she chose this path: her dreams, her future, her life… She could even accept that someday, she might lose her son.

She had never thought she would lose his respect.

She'd never thought she would lose her own.

The tears kept coming. She let them fall. It would be all right. Her son wouldn't be home for a while, and the dinner plate should keep her husband content long enough.

Her shoulder throbbed. If she had been any later tonight…if the commercial hadn't ended when it had… The next time she got home, it might be too late. The choices she had made were all that protected him. They could also be what caused him harm, in the end.

She shifted on the bed. There was a rustling from her pocket. She drew out the dark red pamphlet the counselor had given her. She traced the gold embossed Y. A boarding school. For troubled kids.

It would mean months without seeing him. It would mean hours, not minutes, of travel if he needed her. There would be weeks of extra hours at work to make the tuition difference. It would mean he slept somewhere else, far away. It would mean time not spent with alone with her.

It would also mean time not spent here alone without her. She could make sure there was one thing that didn't threaten him. This would only keep happening more often, as her son got older. She couldn't always count on being home to protect him. He deserved better. He needed more.

She dried her eyes. They could do it. Her son had been called worse than troubled, he could live with the new title.

He would be safe, too. She had been testing her husband's lasting effects with small vacations to Montauk, over the years. She was fully confident that his visits home would be enough to keep him just as protected as he was now.

Her name was called from the living room. Her time was up. She left the bedroom and headed back to the kitchen to fetch another beer, knowing that was what her husband wanted.

He took it from her and motioned to the three empty bottles perched on his armrest. She took them back to the kitchen trash. He hadn't said a word about her red eyes, either he hadn't noticed or he hadn't cared.

She returned to the living room and sat on the far end of the sofa on the other side of the room. Her husband continued to watch the television. She watched the wall above it.

Her son wouldn't be home still for at least an hour. She knew he would walk through the door, ready with an apology for her that was unnecessary. She glanced to the door, then back again.

She wouldn't tell him the plan tonight. She would wait for the weekend, when they had some time alone. She doubted her husband would care, once she assured him she would work to pay for the extra tuition. The extra time at work wouldn't be a problem; in fact it would be welcomed if her son wasn't here to come home to.

Gasping snores alerted her that the man was unconscious. She went over, turned off the TV, and picked up his plate from the floor. She placed it in the sink before returning to her place on the sofa.

The man could sleep there for the night. She wouldn't mind having the bed to herself, for once. She glanced at the door and waited for her son to come home. She was going to miss him when he was gone.

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AN: Not completely happy with this part, so if you know where I went wrong, let me know.


	4. The Fourth

AN: Hello! Thanks to everyone who's still reading this. Also, special thanks to andy for reviewing. Thanks andy!

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The kitchen was silent. The apartment was silent. Completely silent.

With her eyes closed, she fumbled with the cloth on the table, wrapping it around the object in the middle. Her hand brushed against it. She let out a noise that was half a gasp, half a sob at the cold, slimy feeling. When the material was all used she ran her hands over the object one last time to be sure it was completely covered, and then opened her eyes.

It was surprising how much had not changed. There was the same half peeling wallpaper on the walls, and the same cabinets were still opened. The same remnants of the same poker game were still spread over the same table around the lace wrapped object in the center. The same leaky faucet was dripping water into the same chipped sink next to the same dirty dishes.

Yet, everything had changed. Because something was different. There was a statue sitting across from her, staring at center of the kitchen table. She gazed at it for a moment. It was remarkable, really.

She was studying the stone cards that were in the statue's hand when the bile rose in her throat. Hand over her mouth, she hurried over to the sink as the past few minutes finally hit her. When it had passed she rinsed out her mouth, and waited for her blurry vision to clear.

So this is what it had come to.

She picked up the object, grimacing as she felt part of it give under her touch under the lacy fabric, and carried it back into the bedroom. There she placed it back in the bags and box it had come in, resealed the box and shoved it under the far side of the bed. She didn't want to see it again.

She walked back out, and stood in the living room for a second, surrounded by his trash that covered the floor. There was a lot to do, she knew, but she couldn't even begin to know where to start. Her gaze wandered aimlessly, avoiding the statue in the kitchen. The silence was becoming deafening.

The thought crossed her mind: _Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea._ She dismissed it with a toss of her head and began to collect the crushed beer cans from couch.

Of course it wasn't a good idea. It was the only idea that would have worked, though. She had known it. Her husband had known it. Her son had known it.

It was her son who had made her the offer. He had looked her, right in the eye, and handed her a box. She took it, looked at him, and she understood_._

From his story, she could guess what was in the box, what it would do. She could tell from the label of on the box, both by the words written, and how the label seemed to change under her gaze. She understood what it meant.

He had wanted to do it, himself. He was willing to do this one more thing for her. His eyes, oh his eyes, had seen more than the eyes of someone with only twelve years should.

In a lot of ways, nothing about him had changed. He had laughed the same way, had hugged her the same way, to anyone else, he appeared to be the same boy.

She knew better, though. A lot of the things about him were the same, but so much was not. He _knew_ now, and it made all the difference. It was in the way he moved, and in the way he talked. It showed in the way he looked at things.

She knew that, like her, he now _saw _things; really saw them for what they were. She could see it every time he looked at her. He had always looked like _him_, but never before more than when he had looked at her then, with those eyes, and passed judgment on the man in the kitchen.

Her arms full of beer cans, she walked to the trash and dumped them in. She had refused, of course. There were a lot of things her son was that she couldn't help. There were a lot of things that he was becoming, that he needed to become, that she couldn't help either. There were things though, things that he wasn't yet, that she could make sure he never was.

She had taken it upon herself instead. It had to be done, and she had done it instead of him. Maybe she was a coward for doing it like this, but she couldn't think of another way that gave such…successful…results. The trash rustled as she formed a new path through the room. Things would be better now, she was sure. Her son could take care of himself, and now so could she. They could even skip the boarding schools this year. He could go to a nearby school again when he came home. If he came home…

A rustling sounded in the corner. She whipped around and froze, her eyes trained on the spot. Maybe the object was attracting other things to it. Maybe its use had sent out some signal to other things in the area. She reached out and found a baseball bat someone must have left behind and winced as she held it high.

"I'm ready for you," she called out, "whatever you are."

A squeak, followed by the appearance of a small tail made her let out her breath and set the bat down. It was a rat, nothing worse. She wasn't surprised that one had found its way into the mess that had accumulated in the last month.

She placed her hand on an aching part of her back as she moved toward the closet, where the traps were kept. After being restored from…well she still wasn't quite sure what she had been for the past month. Not dead, she knew, but she was certain she hadn't been really alive either. Still, she wished that in sending her back here someone had thought to heal the bruises that dotted her back.

She set the traps and stopped her cleaning. She was willing to bet the debris hid other things she didn't want to find. Instead she looked around at the walls in discontent. She had really grown to hate this apartment. One of the first things she was going to do was find a new one, away from the trash and the rats.

She crossed the room and pulled the curtain away from a window to let the sun in for the first time in years. Her name badge glinted from its spot on the shoulder of her work uniform. She found a smile for it. Today was the last day she would ever wear it. She was going to get a new apartment, a new job, a new…everything.

Except a new family. Never a new family. Her son had said she deserved this second chance. _He _had said she deserved it. Maybe she did. She was going to take it, anyway. Last month she had not died. This morning she had been given new life.

She could still hear her son's words in her head, the look on his face, and the look in his eyes. Her eyes found the statue again. This new life had come with a high price. She would make sure it was worth it.

She walked back to the bedroom, and carefully retrieved the box from under the bed. Holding at not quite arm's length, she proceeded through the apartment and out the door.

Closing the door behind her, she had another view of the statue. She drew the door firmly shut. Maybe she would call an art dealer and see what they would be willing to pay for an amateur's work.

Taking the box down the stairs she began to compile a list of things she needed to do. She needed to find a new apartment. She needed to quit her job. She needed to find an art dealer. She needed to find a good school nearby, hopefully somewhere that allowed a couple dozen marks on a record, just in case. She should also check if her acceptance at the university was still valid after all these years, and see what classes she could take in the fall.

In the basement of the building, she opened a door. Inside the small room, the furnace burned behind a grate.

She also needed to get rid of the box.

She opened the grate, and slid the box in among the flames. She watched as the label curled, browned at the edges, and fell off. She turned away and walked out of the room. She didn't have the time. There weren't enough hours in the day for her to get everything she needed done.

As she was headed back up, she remembered yet another thing she needed to do later that day. She couldn't forget to call the police.

After all, her husband was missing.

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AN: One chapter left, and maybe a (somewhat) funny (very) short story that is loosely related. I might post it. If you want to read it, let me know. I'll take silence as a loud "No."

Anyway, let me know what you thought!


	5. The Fifth

AN: Hi! Sorry for the long hiatus there. Thanks to reviewers andy, Kanae Valentine, Ruby Rememberance, and Stinkyacorn! I think you guys are great for reviewing.

I'll be honest. I hate this chapter. This story was intended to be a short one-shot of five different moments, but the first couple of chapters got away from me. Since then, it's felt like I've struggled to properly flesh out my concepts for the last few chapters into a respectable length. Most of all this one, not that I don't think it has it's redeeming points. So, as a word of warning, be prepared for super sweet, pointless fluff. Do not read after intaking large amounts of sugar.

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It felt like she had been sleeping for days. The area around her looked like a war zone. As she moved through it, her eyes found her son's. He looked at her, and then craned his neck to see around her. He focused on a point behind her, his eyes going wide with horror.

"Mom!" he shouted, and tried to take a futile step closer.

She whirled around and took a few steps to the side as the Giant behind her was forced back. Others rushed to the space. She blew a strand of hair out of her face as she watched the Giant fall, defeated.

Her son gave a dismayed shout and fell back into the sofa with a _whmph!_ He took a drink from his nearby Coke, and shot a disgusted look at the man on the other side of the couch. Her husband ran his hand through his thick hair and simply shook his head in return.

She left them to their football game as she continued into the kitchen. She had been tired all afternoon, and her nap had left her hungry. She found the last blueberry muffin from breakfast and sat down at the table.

From her position she could see straight into the living room. The scene there made her smile. Her son and her husband sat together on their sofa, occasionally moving to hand off a bag of chips or to pump a fist in triumph.

Her eyes teared up for a moment, before she impatiently dashed them away. Her emotions were constantly surprising her these days. The sports anthem played signaling a commercial. She watched as her husband rose from the couch. He walked into the room, threw away the now empty bag.

"Sorry about the mess in there," he said, indicating the living room, "we'll clean it up afterwards. Are you feeling better now?" She gave a nod, both touched and amused at his over concern.

"It's on," her son's voice rang out. Her husband gave her a kiss and walked back to the television. She had heard of three being lucky, but that hadn't prepared her for how her life had turned out.

Really, the last thing she had wanted when walking into her classroom that semester was to be in a relationship, so soon, again. But he had made her laugh that first day, and when her son had handled the situation with the aplomb of someone twice his age, she had decided to give this new man a fair chance. Together they had found a place for him in their lives, and he had so suited the space it had become impossible to imagine life without him.

She watched him now as he made a comment to the boy on his left about the opposing team. Her son had grown up. That in itself was a small miracle she would always be grateful for. It had seemed so unlikely for a while. He had faced every challenge placed in front of him, unfair as they may have been, and came out the other side stronger. He had made himself better. He made everyone around him better. Her hand came to rest on her swelling abdomen. It was a trait she hoped was passed on to all of her children.

She plucked an errant blueberry from the tabletop. Blue was still their celebration color. Her son's favorite color meant even more to her ever since she had seen its glow, and known that her world has survived its harshest test.

"Their capitol building is the oldest in the country," her son responded, eyes still on the television, "at least, the oldest still used everyday." She popped a piece of muffin in her mouth to hide her smile. If she ever said it, he would deny it until he was blue in the face, all the while grinning like an idiot, but that girlfriend of his was wearing off on him. She liked the effect.

She let her eyes roam over the clean kitchen of their apartment. Her eyes fell on the refrigerator, where her son's history test hung next to a letter from a - _her _– publisher. An envelope lay on the counter next to it, thick with university advertisements. She fought down the anxiety it suddenly produced. They still had plenty of time before those decisions needed to be made.

She grabbed the muffin and napkin and headed back into the living room. They made room for her on the couch. Her son's head lolled in her direction, "Can you believe this?" he asked her, dejectedly.

She smiled. "I'm learning to," she said. His attention was back on the game, she wrapped an arm around him. Her life had once been a nightmare that she had finally woken herself up from; her life now seemed like an unimaginable dream.

There was blueberry still on the fingers of her free hand, and she wiped them on the napkin. Her eyes fell on her husband, and he interlaced his hand with hers. She settled back against the couch, and gave a sigh of contentment as she followed the path of the football in the air. He didn't seem to mind that her fingers were stained blue. She gave a rare thought to an art gallery downtown, where a plaque with her name on it hung on the wall. She smiled again. _Happy anniversary. _

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AN: I would like to thank everyone who read this story, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I honestly enjoyed writing it. As a further bonus, I'm including a short skit loosely related to this story. Once again, I'm not 100 percent confident about posting this, but I promised a few I would, so here it is. I hope you like it. Let me know what you think!

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Paul: Oh, Sally the police called. They found a body in a wall, they think it might be your ex-husband. They're running tests to find out.

Sally: (reading paper, not interested) I see.

Paul: He was married to you for how long, again? And didn't he disappear right after Percy found out…about his father? (nervous glance at Percy and his deadly ballpoint)

Sally: Yes that's about right… (sees his glance) Oh, but Percy didn't kill him, don't worry! He really wanted to, but in the end, decided to let me do it.

Paul: Ah. (forced smile) So…_you _killed him?

Sally: (turning a page of the paper) With the head of Medusa. That's why the police won't ever find him. He's on display at a gallery downtown.

Paul: The head of…on display…

Sally: I've gone to visit him a couple of times, it's really lovely. My name's on the plaque, right next to his head.

Paul: But he's not…I mean, he can't…He _is _really…

Percy: Dead? As a doornail. Believe me. My cousin, Nico, took me down to the Underworld to see him as a birthday present last fall.

Paul: Oh…I see. How…nice.

Percy: (enthusiastically) Yeah, it was great. He works in the palace now, you see. He has to wear this ridiculously frilly apron and act as a servant to my Uncle's every whim. Fetch him his drinks, serve his dinner, hold the antennas steady while he watches TV…

Paul: (more than a little freaked out) Mhm…

Percy: Of course, when he saw me he begged...

Paul: (touched) For your help?

Percy: No, for Hades to send him to the pits with fire and sharpened spikes and everlasting torment. To get away from me.

Paul: Oh. Of course. (gulp)


End file.
